The doorbell rang again.
“Well, only one way to figure this out,” Caitlin said.
“Don’t-” Michelle began, as Caitlin stepped in front of her and unlocked the door.
“Hi, Troy! Come on in.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“Hey, Caitlin. Michelle.”
Troy Stone stood in the center of the living room. He seemed uncertain. Michelle was aware, suddenly, of how large a man he was, how much space he took up, how solid he appeared.
If he tried something… could she do anything to stop him?
“Would you like a glass of wine?” Caitlin asked him. “We were just sitting down for a drink.”
“That’d be great,” He sat down on the couch with that hint of stiffness Michelle had seen before, as though his back hurt. “Traffic wasn’t bad, but I’m glad to be out of the car.”
“Let me go pour another glass,” Caitlin said.
“That’s all right,” Michelle said quickly. “I’ll get it. Troy, the one on the coffee table’s fresh. Why don’t you take it?” She didn’t want to turn her back on Caitlin, didn’t want to leave her too close to Troy, but maybe she could find something in the kitchen she could use for a weapon, a knife.
“Yeah, I was already in the car so I just took the chance you’d be here,” she heard Troy say. “Figured I’d hang out at the Hyatt bar if you weren’t.”
There was a paring knife in a butcher block on the counter, a good one, a Victorinox. Small enough to fit in her jacket pocket. She snatched it up and put it in her pocket, quickly poured a small glass of wine, to pretend that things were normal.
Maybe they were.
“Well, cheers,” Caitlin said, lifting her glass.
“Cheers,” Troy replied. Caitlin sat down on the chair across from him.
Michelle remained standing by the kitchen counter, so she could move quickly, if she had to.
“So, what’s up?” Troy said at length.
Caitlin looked confused. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“You texted me.”
“I didn’t.”
Now it was Troy’s turn to frown. “I have it right here. You said it was important, that we needed to talk tonight. I wouldn’t have driven all the way down here from Venice otherwise.”
Oh, shit, Michelle thought. She put down the wine. In a couple of strides she was across the room. “Let me see.”
“What the hell, Michelle? You think I’m lying to you or something?”
“No.” Or, probably not. “But it’s important. Caitlin didn’t send you a text.”
He shrugged. Reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a smartphone. Unlocked the screen and pulled up a text screen.
There it was.
urgent that we talk. something big’s come up. can you come to san diego tonight? i know it’s a lot to ask but it’s extremely important. i should be there by 9. can put you up at the hyatt after.
Under that, Troy’s reply:
we can’t handle on the phone?
And “Caitlin’s”:
afraid not. too complicated. could have a huge impact on our campaign. but i think we can make it work for us. very exciting possibilities!
Lucky for you, Troy Stone is going to save you a considerable amount of grief.
“We need to get out of here,” Michelle said.
Caitlin laughed nervously. “You’re scaring me a little, Michelle. What’s going on?”
Troy stood up. “Yeah, Michelle. First you give me some cryptic warning, now this? I want an explanation.”
“We don’t have time-” Michelle began, and then the doorbell rang.
“Don’t answer it!”
Troy beat her to the door. Looked through the keyhole. “What are you talking about? It’s just a girl. There’s nobody else.”
He opened the door a crack, blocking it with his foot so no one could get past him. “Yeah?”
“I’ve lost my dog,” Michelle heard. “Have you seen him?”
“What kind of dog?”
“A pug-”
“Close the door, Troy!” Michelle said, trying to keep her voice low.
Troy turned to her, with a look of pure exasperation. He suddenly swatted at his hip, exasperation turning to puzzlement. He took a few stumbling steps forward; then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed.
“Troy?” Caitlin started to move toward him as the door opened a crack, stopping for a moment as it hit Troy’s foot. Whoever was behind the door pushed it again. The door opened wider.
Christ. She had no time. Michelle crouched behind the sofa, paring knife in hand, her back to the sliding glass doors.
“Who are you?” she heard Caitlin say. “What do you want? What did you-?”
Michelle heard the slightest puff of compressed air. A cry from Caitlin. The sound of stumbling footsteps, a body falling.
Then silence.
The front door closed.
Michelle risked a peek over the top of the couch. A short, slightly heavy woman was putting the chain on the front door. Michelle ducked down as she started to turn.
It had to be Carlene.
Was it possible she didn’t know Michelle was here?
If she comes over here, grab a pillow, throw it at her, tackle her. She could take an unarmed Carlene, she was pretty sure. Just not whatever weapon Carlene had.
Michelle heard soft footsteps moving past her, toward the hall that led to the bedrooms. Saw a glow of light from the hall. She must be checking out the bedrooms, Michelle thought.
Now was her chance to get out. She rose up.
Troy and Caitlin lay on the floor, Troy by the door, Caitlin by the coffee table. Were they breathing?
Some kind of tranquilizer, maybe. But Carlene would have a gun, too.
Shit, she thought. I can’t just leave them. If they’re alive…
Besides, the woman was coming back.
From behind the couch, Michelle could hear her start to hum. Off-key, but it sounded like a Katy Perry song.
The humming continued as Michelle heard the sound of running water. She must have gone into the kitchen. Michelle risked another look.
She could see the woman’s back. She was standing at the kitchen sink with the open bottle of wine, pouring the contents down the sink.
“Oh, oh, oh, California gurls…”
Michelle ducked back down.
She heard the sound of breaking glass. What was it? A wine glass?
“Oh, oh, oh…”
She heard a thud. A soft moan. Peeked over the couch. Saw Carlene standing over Caitlin, holding the wine bottle.
Fuck!
She crept around to the side of the couch. Got a glimpse of Carlene squatting by Caitlin, tugging down Caitlin’s sweatpants, the empty wine bottle by her side.
Rage rose up from her gut, into her throat, and she made a sound halfway between a shriek and a bellow as she sprung to her feet.
Carlene’s eyes went wide. “Stay out of this!” she cried, but as she saw Michelle close the gap between them, she reached for something beneath her shirt, tucked in her cleavage. Michelle glimpsed a pistol butt. She shoved Carlene to the ground, straddling her, grabbed her wrist with her free hand, slamming it against the carpet. Carlene didn’t let go of the gun. She reached up and clutched a handful of Michelle’s hair and yanked hard. Michelle fell to the side, landing on her own arm, still holding onto Carlene’s other wrist, the hand that held the gun. Something, Carlene’s knee maybe, struck her in the gut, and she nearly lost her grip, and then Carlene was punching the side of her head, grabbing her ear, twisting it.
With her free hand, Michelle reached out and stabbed the paring knife into Carlene’s side, just under her arm. She caught a rib the first time. She reached out and stabbed again. Carlene screamed and kicked her in the shin. Michelle stabbed her again, this time in the fleshy part of her shoulder.
“Stop it!” Carlene shrieked. “Stop it!”
“You want me to stop it? You want me to stop it?” Michelle stabbed her again. “Let go of the fucking gun!”